Chapter 301: Speculations about the Herpo Treasure
What a coincidence. Phineas had just been worrying about how to find this family—and then, trouble found them instead.
Seeing the wizards surrounding him, Phineas didn't panic. Instead, the corners of his mouth lifted into a faint smile.
"Hey, you are—"
"Bang!"
Before he could finish, Phineas leapt aside just in time. The spot where he had stood exploded in shards of shattered brick.
He silently thanked the awakening of his bloodline ability—magical perception. Just moments before, he had sensed a surge of magical energy behind him and instantly realized someone was about to strike. That reflex had saved him.
"I said, you lot—"
But before he could get another word out, more spells rained down on him.
The wizards surrounding him raised their wands and unleashed a barrage of enchantments. Thankfully, none were the Killing Curse. Most were stunning or control spells.
Phineas was relieved. If they'd all launched killing curses, there would've been no escape—he'd have been overwhelmed. Not to mention, they'd likely hit each other by mistake. The power and precision of a spell varied greatly with each caster's level and magical strength.
One of the spells struck Phineas, but the enchantments embedded in Ravenclaw's ring activated, shielding him. He quickly followed with a powerful Shield Charm of his own.
Backed by the strength of his snakewood wand, his protective enchantment held firm, impervious to the wild volley.
As he defended himself, Phineas assessed his attackers. Only one of them was a legendary wizard. The rest were ordinary adult wizards—dangerous in numbers, but no real threat to him given enough time.
With his defences holding, Phineas finally had the space he needed to cast his own magic.
Touching his throat with his wand, he inhaled deeply and exhaled a stream of flames—an advanced form of Fiendfyre. This technique not only looked far more impressive than the typical conjuring of cursed fire but was vastly more powerful and much faster.
As the flames surged, the soul stone at the tip of his staff gleamed faintly.
Phineas cast again, and from the flames emerged a phoenix made entirely of fire.
The blazing bird soared around him, intercepting the incoming spells like a guardian spirit.
Enshrouded by the Fiery Phoenix, Phineas moved through the battlefield with a certain elegance, wand dancing in measured arcs. Each wave of his wand knocked another enemy unconscious.
Since these attackers had no intent to kill, Phineas showed restraint as well. Besides, he still needed to keep a low profile, which was why he had chosen to bring his snakewood wand rather than his phoenix-feather wand from Ollivanders. That wand bore the trace spells placed by the Ministry of Magic—any spell cast with it would instantly alert them to his presence in Greece, something he wanted to avoid.
So he'd left it at Lisa Manor.
Back on the battlefield, Phineas now resembled a god of war—untouchable, poised, and devastating.
He didn't incapacitate everyone. He needed someone left to interrogate.
He tapped his wand to the ground.
The weeds growing through the cracks in the stone were suddenly infused with magic. They twisted and writhed, growing rapidly into vines that snared the nearest enemies and rendered them helpless.
And with that, the skirmish—more farce than battle—was over.
Phineas lowered his wand, though the Fiery Phoenix didn't vanish. It shrank into a small, sparrow-sized ember-colored bird and settled on his shoulder, eyes gleaming and vigilant. If anyone dared to raise a wand again, it looked ready to strike them down.
Magical creatures created through advanced transformation magic were loyal to their creator by instinct. Phineas was its creator and master—and it would protect him unconditionally.
Ignoring the bird, Phineas approached the one great wizard among the attackers—now bound by the enchanted vines.
He found it strange. How could someone of this calibre be caught by such a simple Transfiguration charm? Even a great wizard unskilled in combat should easily resist this. After all, they could cast spells nonverbally and without a wand. Basic control magic shouldn't have worked.
"Can you understand me?" Phineas asked, unsure if the attack had been a language misunderstanding—he spoke English, perhaps they only spoke Greek.
"**&*...￥%" came the furious response—a long stream of curses.
So they did understand English. They attacked on purpose.
Phineas recalled Wumingyi's warning about this family—the veiled expression on his face had said enough.
They were unreasonable.
And if they were going to abandon reason, Phineas was happy to do the same.
He had never seen himself as a good person—especially not after what happened with the Parkinson girl. She had been his classmate, yet he had handed her over to his subordinates without hesitation.
This stranger before him was no different.
A wicked smile tugged at the corners of Phineas's lips as darker thoughts crept into his mind.
"You enjoy cursing?" he said softly. "Then keep cursing."
With that, he raised his wand and cast a Transfiguration spell—not a clean transformation, but a crude, forceful one. It didn't alter the wizard's essence, only twisted and reshaped his body piece by piece.
Crackling bone and muffled screams filled the ruined temple. Night had fallen, and the flickering torchlight added an eerie gloom to the grotesque scene.
The spell wasn't true Transfiguration. It was the result of forcing a physical form to shift without proper preparation, causing extreme pain. Worse, the effect was permanent—even if reversed.
St. Mungo's had an entire department for accidental transformations like this, usually caused by inexperienced young wizards. Phineas had taken inspiration from their mistakes.
The great wizard bore the pain stoically—but watching his limbs contort into the shape of a pale, insectoid creature was a psychological torment he couldn't endure.
Once the transformation was complete, Phineas flicked his wand. The soft, boneless creature soared through the air and disappeared into a distant pile of rubble.
"You like spewing filth? Then back to the sewers with you."
He turned his gaze to the next wizard.
That one was trembling, face pale and drenched in sweat. A sickening smell filled the air. He had lost control of his bowels and bladder.
Disgusted, Phineas waved his wand. The wizard vanished—where to, he didn't care.
Next.
This one was better. Still trembling, still pale—but at least his bodily functions remained intact.
"Don't be afraid," Phineas said gently. "As long as you cooperate, I won't harm you."
To the wizard, it was like the devil whispering from the edge of a cliff.
He nodded frantically.
"Good," said Phineas. "First question: Why did you surround and attack me?"
The wizard swallowed hard. "It's our rule. If any wizard approaches the temple, we detain them. Surrounding them gives us a better chance of success."
Phineas frowned. "So you've done this before. Aren't you worried someone will report you?"
The wizard rushed to explain. "We don't hurt anyone. We bring them to our family elders. They explore their memories, and if there's no threat, we erase the encounter and send them away."
Phineas's brows furrowed. The wizard continued nervously.
"Temples in Greece often have strange effects. A wizard passing out near one isn't unusual."
"Third question," Phineas pressed. "What's so special about this temple that you guard it so fiercely?"
"I... I don't know," the wizard stammered. "Only the direct descendants and great wizards in the family know the real reason. But... there's a legend."
He paused, eyes darting.
"Our ancestor defeated a powerful wizard long ago. He took his treasure and buried it somewhere. The clue is in this temple. But for over a thousand years, we haven't found anything. We only know the treasure is somewhere in the Aegean Sea."
"We found a magical ruin there once, but there was no treasure."
Phineas pondered this. It matched what Wumingyi had told him—likely the truth.
If that ancient wizard was Herpo, then this family's ancestor may have defeated him. But where's the treasure?
A basilisk? A Horcrux?
Probably not gold.
This family had guarded these ruins for centuries. Even if earlier generations missed the truth, some must have realized it.
So perhaps the elders knew there was no treasure—and they allowed the younger members to believe in it to keep them searching.
But what were they really looking for?
Basilisks were controllable only by Parseltongues. The method to hatch one wasn't a secret.
That left one possibility.
Horcruxes.
Phineas had a gut feeling that this family was chasing the secrets of soul-splitting magic.
Even the Council of Elders knew little about Horcruxes. The method of splitting one's soul was dismissed by most legendary wizards—after all, it blocked the path to becoming a legend.
But Voldemort had done both.
Which meant there was something about Horcruxes the magical world didn't yet understand.
And perhaps this family was closer to discovering it than anyone realized.